


You're the Nearest Thing

by TullyBlue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddly Dean, Episode: s08e10 Torn and Frayed, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TullyBlue/pseuds/TullyBlue
Summary: It's the small moments, like this, that remind him why he chooses humanity again and again. Especially over Heaven.





	You're the Nearest Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Set after S08E10, Castiel recovering from memories of what happened during his brainwashing. Descriptions of series-esque torture. Title taken from Johnny Cash's _You're the Nearest Thing to Heaven_.

It was always the colors first. Flashes flickered in and out, red and white and black and blue and red and white and black and blue. The disgusting purples and yellows of healing bruises painted across a young body. The blooming red of fresh incisions, abrasions, and lacerations. The red-black of dried blood, on skin and under nails and coating metal. The stark white of skin bled until it was almost too much. And blue. Bright and shocking, surrounded by pink and pierced by black. Desperate and hopeful and damned, that blue was always the worst part.

After the colors came the scents, one by one like a line of marching soldiers. An awful, metallic scent was always first. Blood. So familiar, so despised. That was always followed by the stale air, dust of an old building, and remnants of so many weeks of imprisonment and torture.

The sounds of screaming and ear-shattering distress signals always sprung to life next. Then, the agonizing vision would come together like a Leviathan forming before his eyes. Samandriel, strapped to a chair and practically begging for death, in the middle of Crowley’s latest haunt. His eyes were screwed tight; his face had morphed into a mask of pain. There was a part of Castiel that marveled at the young angel’s strength and perseverance. The demons had spent long hours trying to hack into the coding of Samandriel's brain like it was a particularly sophisticated computer, using blades and picks to find the cracks in his firewall. The image of Samandriel in front of him was replaced with that of a woman. She leaned over him and all he felt was dread. And then there were the colors again. Red and white and black and blue. He was trying to save his friend. Breathing heavily and fighting to stay in control against illusions - memories? - attacking his mind, Castiel reached to unscrew his brother from the sadistic weapon strapped to his forehead.

Wrangling the metal piece off was delicate work. He didn’t wish to harm the angel any more, after seeing how well Crowley had accomplished that task. One by one, the screws were pulled from his friend’s brain, skull, and headpiece. His reality twisted and warped but he kept trying. Finally, Samandriel was free. He forced his eyes open and rose them to look at the person before him.

If it had been hard to breathe with the scenes of Naomi in his mind, Castiel stopped trying entirely when he met Samandriel’s eyes. Bright and wild, staring at him as if he were a hero. As if he were a vision. As if he were God.

Castiel had almost single handedly destroyed Heaven, his home. He slaughtered angels like livestock. He decimated their population and social structure. Then, to make the weight of guilt he felt the slightest bit lighter, he spent a year in Purgatory. He’s spent the last few months trying to save lives. No matter how many lives Castiel had saved, he wasn’t even close to evening the scales Lady Justice held. And yet… And yet, here was this angel who had defended him at every turn, believing his heart to be in the right place. Now Samandriel stared at him as if he were the very Creator. Maybe this life, this angel, his friend, could count for a little more repentance.

All of a sudden, Samandriel’s eyes widened and the light faded from them. Castiel panicked and looked down to see himself holding a knife in the other angel’s abdomen. The silver of the blade glinted as he removed it from the body. It was no longer Samandriel. No longer his friend or an angel. Now it was just an empty, wasted vessel bleeding out on the asphalt.

_“Cas!”_

There were Sam and Dean, running and bloody.

“What happened?” Sam was panting, looking between him and the corpse.

_“Cas! Hey!”_

“He was compromised.” The words were dead, just like Samandriel.

_“Castiel, come on, wake up!”_

Cas jerked upright, awake and freezing. A hand was roughly smoothing his hair and another was pressed against his ribcage. Dean, an understanding expression and worried eyes. The angel closed his eyes, in defeat it seemed, and took a few deep breaths.

"Thank you. I’m sorry this keeps happening. You may return to your bed.” Without another word, he rolled onto his side. He feigned sleep and waited for Dean to leave.

Of course, that wasn’t enough to shut Dean out. The familiar sounds of boots thudding against the floor was followed by a jacket, shirt, and jeans piling up on the rug. Settling into the bed, he slung an arm around Castiel’s waist and pulled them together. He buried his face between a pair of tense shoulder blades. “Alright, Cas. You know damn well I have more nightmares than you, so shut up and get back to sleep. I’m here now, so you’ve got something to hold on to. And keep those wandering hands to yourself. That case kicked my ass. 'M gettin' too old for this."

Castiel let his breathing even out and his muscles relax before he replied. “I’m glad you’re safe. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Love ya, too, Cas.”

He falls asleep long after Dean, uncomfortably warm and entirely safe. It's the small moments, like this, that remind him why he chooses humanity again and again. Especially over Heaven.


End file.
